“I’ll have it ready for you both to approve tomorrow after your wine tasting. Invitations will go out the next day.”
I press my hands together to steady myself. “Sylvie said she was designing my dress. Is that still… possible?”
“Yes. She’s insisted. I have a fitting booked for you in a few days, here at the villa,” Karim says. “It’s two days after the charity event in Milan that you’re attending. I just confirmed your attendance.”
Large letters on the binder spell outWedding.Wow. We’re really doing this. I open it up to see the invitation there.Paige and Rafael,it says, and it looks entirely strange. Beautiful. But like it’s someone else’s wedding.
I close the binder. “Thank you for all your help,” I tell them both. “Do you have my number, Karim? And you, Wren?”
They look at each other. “Yes. Mr. Montclair has given us everything we need.”
“Good,” I say. “Right. That’s good.”
Rafe’s eyes move over us three. He’s in the same seat he was in last time, silhouetted by open windows and the lake beyond. He looks so at home here. There’s no trace of a hangover on his too-angular face, like he wasn’t up too late and didn’t drink too much.
“Will you excuse us?” he asks Wren and Karim.
They rise and step out of the office, the door shutting behind them. I curl my hands tight over the armrests of my chair. “Youhaveto tell me when meetings like this are happening,” I tell him.
He lifts an eyebrow. “I tried to.”
“Not by a single knock early in the morning after a party that didn’t end until two!”
“You found your way here, didn’t you?” He leans back in the chair. “Besides, you would have been informed after.”
“I don’t want to be informed. I want to be involved.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Is this retaliation for last night?”
He looks relaxed, with that large leather binder on thetable between us.Wedding.But there’s a tightening in his jaw. “I’m not that petty, Wilde. That’s you.”
“So itisretaliation. Huh.” I lean back, mirroring his stance. “So I got under your skin that much?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“The more you deny it, the more you confirm it.”
He says something in Italian. It’s a single sentence, but there’s clear emphasis on the final word.
Annoyance makes my fingers twitch.
“Talk to me in languages I don’t understand all you want,” I tell him. “I’m guessing you just told me how much you liked my little present? You’reverywelcome, dear husband.”
His eyes narrow. “It’s not a present if you paid for it with my card.”
“Aw, so you liked it. Fantastic.” I get up and grab the binder. My heart is beating fast. “Judging by how tense you are, you might have to use it again, though. Can’t have my fake husband have an aneurysm from the sudden celibacy.”
His teeth grind together. “I did not use it.”
“Oh, really? Was it too big for you?” I cock my head. “I tried to get the medium size. Maybe after your enlargement.”
“Did you like that? Thinking about what would fit me and what would turn me on?” He braces his hands against the wooden desk. Very broad hands. “You think I’m attracted to you, but you’re the one who’s got a twisted mind.”
“I just can’t have you sneaking out in the middle of the night again for a hookup,” I fire back, “so I’mhandlingyou. But I’m not the least bit interested in your… habits.”
“Sure you’re not. You just did it out of the goodness of your heart.” He narrows his eyes. “You just want me to say I’m attracted to you.”
“Because it’s blatantly obvious,” I say, with far less conviction that I feel. That was drunk me speaking, high onchampagne and life and the anger in his eyes. But I can’t back down. Never, not with him.
You don’t show weakness around a predator.
